speck, rapidly grew larger, and dropped to earth like a tired bird,
while the crowd applauded once more.

"Whose 'plane is that?" asked Mr. Chester, as the machine was trundled
into its shed--a pretentious affair built of corrugated iron and
painted dark blue.

"Why, that's a mystery," laughed Frank, "but it's a dandy flyer. In
fact it's about the only rival we really fear."

"What do you mean by 'a mystery,' Frank?" asked his mother.

"Well, mother, nobody knows who owns it. Its black-covered planes have
earned it the name of The Buzzard and it can glide like one too, but
as to its owner we are all in ignorance, though we should like to
know."

"Whoever he may be he has made a lot of money," chimed in Harry.
"Several enthusiasts who have watched the Buzzard fly have placed
orders for similar machines."

"How much does such a craft cost?" asked his father.

"Oh, ones patterned after the Buzzard sell for $25,000," was the
reply; "and if that machine wins this race, of course, it will give
the mysterious manufacturer a tremendous prestige. But I think at
that," he broke off with a merry smile, "that the Golden Eagle II is
going to prove more than the Buzzard's match."

"Did you go over the whole course this afternoon?" asked his father.